


The Best Damn Shot in the 107th

by Bohemienne



Series: MCU Prompts, Ficlets, and Drabbles [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drabble, Ficlet, Fluffy Angst, Gift Fic, Howling Commandos - Freeform, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, angsty fluff, atrocious gun safety, post-serum Bucky, pre-Winter Soldier Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohemienne/pseuds/Bohemienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GIFT FICLET FOR Julie kaciart.tumblr.com - based off this sketch: http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/147062040488</p><p>Bucky has to teach Steve a thing or two about shooting discipline. Double entendres that are really just single entendres ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Damn Shot in the 107th

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaciart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaciart/gifts).



> GIFT FICLET FOR Julie kaciart.tumblr.com - based off this sketch: http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/147062040488
> 
> Julie is one of my absolute favorite Stucky/general MCU artists. She puts such incredible emotion and nuance into her lineart, and her stream is a joy to watch. Thank you, Julie, for sharing your art with this fandom <3
> 
> 60% less Bucky angst than usual! Okay, maybe 50%.

**Southern France – April, 1944**

 

“The problem,” Bucky said, tossing Steve a fresh box of shells, “is that you’ve got no patience.”

“And this is news to you?” Steve smirked as he reloaded his sidearm. That smirk always spelled trouble—had since they were kids. It was the kind of smirk that usually needed to be smacked off Steve’s golden face. Or kissed off. Bucky wasn’t picky.

“As soon as you pick out your target, you unload, like it’s a goddamn race.” Bucky leaned against the fencepost. “You can’t go shootin’ your whole load like that.”

“—We are still talking about target practice?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Then, while Steve was still grinning that too-gorgeous grin, he jammed one hand against the tender inside of Steve’s wrist. With the other, twisted the gun. Popped it easily out of Steve’s grip. Supersoldier or no, there weren’t many guys that were ready for that particular maneuver.

“If you don’t show restraint, and you missed . . . then the other guy comes at you. And he’s not just looking to fuck you up anymore. He’s pissed off, and a little cocky besides. Not a good combination. And then this happens.”

He leveled the pistol right at Steve’s chest. Blood rushed in his ears; for a moment Bucky was back in the forest, darting from tree to tree, some kind of sixth sense, and maybe a seventh or eighth besides, honing his awareness to a dangerous edge. It burned in his chest for a moment, that overwhelming sense of anticipation he’d felt lately just before a kill—

But this was Steve. This was just for fun. He released his breath and let the trigger click.

The hammer struck nothingness. An empty chamber.

Steve’s whole body had coiled up; at the sound of the empty shot, he unfurled. “Jesus, Buck. You can’t just _do_ that.”

“I can. Because unlike you, I count bullets.” He tried to grin, but this time it felt strained.

Steve pressed his hands to either side of Bucky’s shoulders. “Hey.”

Bucky swallowed, but it did nothing to relieve the tension in his neck, his jaw.

“You okay?”

Steve’s voice was soft, comforting as ocean waves. Finally Bucky released his clenched teeth and let himself ease into Steve’s touch.

“Nightmares again?” Steve murmured.

There was no point lying. Steve knew better than he did what he screamed into the dark, the way he turned and tangled himself in their rough standard-issue blankets or the lumpy beds of whatever abandoned farmhouse they’d claimed for the night. “It’s like they lit this fire inside me,” he said. “But it never burns me up, just keeps roaring in my blood.”

Steve pulled him closer, and Bucky nestled his head beneath Steve’s chin. He still couldn’t get over it, that Steve was taller than him now. “You’re safe.” Steve stroked his back. “You’re safe.”

Wrapped in Steve’s arms, he could believe it. He could just about believe in anything.

“Not if you don’t learn some trigger discipline,” he said instead, grinning once more.

“Oh, you punk.” Steve planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I’ll make you pay for that.”

Bucky ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “I’d like to see you try.”

Steve arched one eyebrow. A challenge. Something Steve Rogers never could resist.

One way or another, Bucky wasn’t getting much sleep tonight.

Steve tugged him into a kiss—light, teasing—but Bucky nipped at his lower lip and pulled back. “Now, Steve. You’ve forgotten the most important part of shooting.”

Steve snorted. “And what is that?”

Bucky flicked the sidearm’s safety on. “Safety first.” Then he tossed the pistol over his shoulder and seized Steve’s uniform collar. Steve could forget all his shooting lessons, but he’d be damned sure not to forget this kiss.


End file.
